Cold Chills
by NidrianRuuthane
Summary: Part two of three. Can be read as stand alone. Margaret Eppes POV. Don makes a promise.


The "Cold" Trilogy

Part Two: "Cold Chills"

Disclaimer: I don't own Numb3rs

A/N: This is part two of three in an Oneshot trilogy. Part one is titled "Cold Nights." They are written as a set but can be read as a stand-alone. This Oneshot takes place before "Cold Nights", during Don's mother's illness, before she passed away. From her POV, and once again, not entirely in character of Don Eppes, more 'what if' than anything else.

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Some nights, the effect of the chemo treatments kept her awake, staring at the ceiling, no relief from the discomfort to be found in the uncomfortable solitude of the night. She would wake suddenly in the blackness, the nausea roiling in her gut and rather than wake her slumbering husband with her tossing and turning, she would go softly in the darkness, down the stairs, and sit in the living room until the waves of wrenching illness dissipated. Tonight was another one of those nights—so she sat, enfolded alone in the blanket of darkness.

This particular night was especially black—oppressive and still, the moon was noticeably absent from the vast expanse of the night sky, its gentle light failing to cascade through the window leaving only a hole into oblivion. She was resting in the large burgundy armchair in the corner of the seemingly desolate room when she heard the soft steps coming down the stairs. She frowned in confusion. Her husband plodded down the stairs and her younger son fairly stomped—the only one in the house who could move down the steps so quietly with such cat-like grace was her eldest son.

What was he doing awake? And at this hour?

She glanced down at the small digital clock on the side table—its red block numbers glared an abrasive 2:03 in the morning.

She sat perfectly still, barely daring to breathe, not wanting him to realize that she was awake. Since being diagnosed with cancer, her eldest had shouldered more than his fair share of responsibility and the last thing she wanted to do was to add to that burden. She knew that he would in a heartbeat he would forgo his own sleep in order to stay up with her and make sure she was all right. And if she protested she knew that he would listen for her anyway and then make like he couldn't sleep either no matter how tired he truly was. Her husband was shattered by her terminal diagnosis and her youngest, her sweet prodigy, was in complete denial drowning himself in some impossible math problem, immersing himself in the numbers seeking solace that could not be found.

Her oldest son made all her doctor appointments and drove her to and from nearly all of them.

He made sure she took her meds at all the right times and let her lean on him when she was tired.

She had joked that he was her guardian angel, making sure she stayed safe, yet in truth he was her unflappable rock of support and love and to her, that was as every bit as good as an angel.

Perhaps it was the regrets she now held inside that froze her in place as she heard him pad down the steps and walk into the bathroom down the hall, the door clicking shut ever so softly behind him.

She tried to discern her hands from the all-encompassing darkness. She had spent so much time with her younger, prodigal son that in several ways she had missed many moments in her other son's life. Looking back, she now realized that maybe she forced him to grow up faster than he should have.

Hindsight is always 20/20 and time is truly a bastard, fleeing too quickly when you need it most.

She snapped from her thoughts as she heard a soft sound coming from the bathroom. For the second time that night, she found herself frowning in puzzlement. She stood up slowly, wincing at the stiffness of her joints and quietly moved to the outside of the bathroom door. She moved her head, ever so carefully, and pushed her ear against the cool surface of the wooden door.

The ragged sound of her son's uneven and hushed sobs tore at her heart, shredding it to pieces as she listened in shock.

Even the strongest of rocks can be broken.

She pressed the palm of her hand against the door as if to reach through and comfort him through the barrier that separated him from her. She took two steps back.

What should she do?

What could she do?

How do you comfort your child and tell them its ok, when you're dying? What could she possibly say that would make that better?

She strained her mind, vainly looking for what to say but the words simply could not be found, an elusive creature forever hiding within the wilderness of her mind.

She took a deep breath, and then knocked softly on the door.

"Donnie? Are you in there? I thought I heard you come down the stairs and I wanted to make sure you were alright…" She almost whispered to him through the door—she hated to lie but she couldn't seem to make herself speak the whole truth.

She heard him abruptly choke off his sobs.

"One second mom." His voice was clear and steady and she marveled at how he could keep it so when she knew he was so distraught. She briefly heard the water in the sink run before the door opened in front of her. Her son was dressed in a plain white t-shirt and navy blue pajama pants; his hair was relatively neat showing that he had slept maybe even less than his mother.

There was no sign of the tears she knew she had heard, and cold chills ran through her body. He had taken all that sorrow and crammed it into some internal box—all so she wouldn't have to see.

"You didn't have to get up mom," Her son's voice was etched with concern and she felt a lump rising in her chest. "You need to go back to bed and get some sleep."

"Oh I wasn't sleeping good anyway, I just wanted to make sure everything was all right…" She trailed off as her son began to question her.

"You weren't sleeping well?" he frowned, "How often does that happen? Do you feel sick?" She shook her head and waved her hand dismissively as she walked back into the living room and sat down on the couch and motioned for her son to sit next to her as he followed her into the room.

"I'm fine." She said evasively, "How are you doing with all this? I mean really?" She gave him her most penetrating stare and saw the depression in his eyes only briefly before he dropped his gaze.

"I'm fine mom, really." _We're both liars,_ she thought, smiling inwardly as she knew they both lied for each other's benefit.

"Donnie will you promise me something?" She spoke impulsively, as her son glanced up at her and nodded only slightly concerned and more curious than anything.

"Of course mom."

"After I'm gone," she stilled her son's protests that she could get better with a firm hand on his arm, "_After I'm gone_, take care of Charlie and your father, will you? Don't leave them on their own—between you and me they're both helpless in their own way. And if your father starts to date again—I told him he should find someone else—then you be supportive ok? Just, stay with them—don't fall out of contact again," She hesitated as she saw the determination and raw sorrow in her son's eyes, "I _missed _you so much while you were gone Donnie and I'm _so sorry_ for missing out on so much of your life."

"Mom…" He trailed off his voice thick.

"Just promise me," she said, cutting off his protestations, "Promise me you'll take care of them."

"I promise mom. I promise."

She nodded, satisfied. She knew now, that he would never leave them, and keep them safe, no matter what. She leaned over and hugged her son as tightly as her weak body allowed her and she took comfort in her son's gentle yet firm hug.

"Let's go get some sleep ok?" She smiled half-heartedly ruffling her son's hair as he nodded wearily.

She lay in bed for a lay time before she slept. She knew her son was hurting inside. She knew that he felt such pain. He didn't know that she knew, but she did. She hoped that the pain would ease away with time and took comfort that he had his brother and his father as much as they had him, whether he knew it or not.

She thought over the course of the night's events over and over in the coming days and she realized some vital things.

Her son will not cry at her funeral, so he could stay strong for Charlie and Alan.

Her son will always meet every conflict head on, but will shy away from relationships wanting to protect them from pain should anything happen to him.

Her son will not be able to ever escape the pain that emotion causes and it will haunt him more than anything else.

For the first time since Don was a child, Margaret Eppes felt that she understood her son better than she had in a long time. As she drifted off to sleep, the cold chills that had wracked her body before now dissipated leaving her in peace—_everything will work out_, _everything will be all right…_

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